


Lessons in Graduation Requirements

by commodorecliche



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Budding Love, College AU, Crushes, First Meetings, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, JeanMarco Gift Exchange, M/M, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, literally so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 22:42:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13133727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commodorecliche/pseuds/commodorecliche
Summary: Request bycatsincafes:Jean and Marco meet in their mandatory language class their freshman year of college, they're both taking Spanish to get the required language credit out of the way. Marco and Jean end up being paired up a speaking partners and therefore talk to each other frequently, the two end up quickly becoming friends and hanging out outside of class.





	Lessons in Graduation Requirements

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catsincafes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catsincafes/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, catsincafes! I'm your gifter! I really hope you enjoy this and that it was what you were hoping to see! I'm always a sucker for fluffy jeanmarco strangers to friends to boyfriends stories (especially college AU ones) so this was a lot of fun to write! I hope you enjoy it. :D

Jean’s head is a hefty weight against his palm. Slouched atop the elongated table in front of him, his arm is doing its damndest to keep his sleep-riddled noggin aloft, but it’s more of a struggle than Jean wants to admit. 

Why, oh, _why_ did he think an 8 AM Spanish class would be the best way to start off his Mondays? 8 AM classes are hell to begin with...doubly so when you factor in the inevitable hangover and sleep-deprivation left over from the weekend. 

Jean yawns - a deep suck of breath to fill his lungs, with the faint hope it might ignite even a modicum of wakefulness inside him - and shifts over to his other arm. He slouches against the desk and watches as other students begin to trickle into the room. The class is small, the desks are just three large, forward-facing conference tables arranged into a U-Shape, and there’s only room for maybe 15 or 20 people total. Jean isn’t surprised to see the seats fill up quickly, it’s why he’d chosen to get here a few minutes early and secure himself a seat at the ends of one of the tables. At least that way, he’d only have to sit next to one person. With every tired blink he takes, it seems that someone else has filtered in and secured themselves a seat, and by the time the professor arrives, the room is full. Well, mostly, save for the empty seat directly to Jean’s left. 

He’s not sure if he’s gotten lucky or if he just seems unapproachable enough that people don't want to sit with him. But he can’t say he minds all that much: he’d rather not spend the entire semester cramped up next to some stranger. 

Jean drags a hand over his face and grabs his backpack where it’s nestled between his feet. The professor is already prattling through the formalities of the course but Jean is only half-listening. He rustles through his bag, digging out a pencil and a notebook, before moving to plop it into the empty seat beside him. But as soon as he does, the door flings open and another student - messy-haired, with a coffee cup in hand - rushes in, a slew of apologies on his lips for being late. The professor - whose name Jean still hasn’t caught - seems unfazed and flicks his fingers in the direction of the empty seat beside Jean. 

Jean lets out a low huff and slides his bag out of the chair as the guy wedges in. He makes a point to slide his chair a little more to the right, closer to the edge of the table and away from the stranger who’s set up shop beside him. He rubs his eyes once more and figures he should probably start paying attention to what the professor is saying - like it or not, having two levels of a foreign language is a graduation requirement, and eventually Jean does plan on graduating. 

“This is going to be a very practical course,” the professor says, “I want you getting basic vocab and verbs and grammar, of course, but I don’t want this to just be a memorization type of class. You guys left that type of class behind in 101; this is 102, and I want you to come out of here a little more conversational in Spanish than you were before. So you’ll each paired with a speaking partner for the semester - there’s an even number of you, thankfully, so it should work out fine.” 

The professor points around the room and pairs each person with the student sitting beside them, leaving Jean partnered with the stranger to his left. Jean glances over at the guy - his hair is still a bit mussed, despite his desperate attempts to comb his fingers through it, and he looks just about as tired as Jean is. 

“Cheers,” Jean says, getting his attention, “looks like we’ll be failing together.” 

The guy meets his gaze and laughs. It’s the first time Jean’s gotten a decent look at his face - his smile is bright and beaming, far too radiant for 8:12 in the morning, and his skin is soft and tanned, his cheeks littered with freckles. 

Jean’s gotta be honest - he is… quite nice to look at. 

The guy leans a little closer to Jean and bumps his shoulder. 

“You wanna hear a secret?” He whispers.

Jean furrows his brow and shrugs.

“Sure,” he whispers back, keeping his voice low so as not to draw the professor’s attention.

“I already speak Spanish.”

Jean starts to laugh, but pauses as the guy gives him a sly, reaffirming nod.

“Wait, really?”

“Yup. My mom’s fluent, she taught me growing up.”

“So why are you here?”

“Pfft, you kidding? This is gunna be the easiest A I’ve ever gotten.”

Jean stares at him for a beat and nods.

“That’s fair,” Jean pauses, “I think you’ve got a better grasp on this college thing than I do.” 

“Debatable,” Marco chuckles as he gives his cup of coffee a brief swirl and takes a long swig. 

Jean smiles, but says nothing, and turns his attention back to the front. 

**::**

When the class finally draws to a close, Jean packs up as quickly as he can, eager to get back to his dorm for a quick morning nap. But his new speaking partner is quick behind him, trailing after him out the door and into the crowded hall.

“Oh, hey,” the guy says, laying a soft hand on Jean’s shoulder and moving to walk beside him, “I didn’t get your name… I’m Marco.” 

Jean slows his walk and shoots a brief grin at Marco. 

“Marco. I’m Jean.” 

“Jean… Sounds French.” 

“That might be because it is.” 

“Spanish, huh? You sure you’re in the right class?” Marco quips with a playful bump against Jean’s shoulder. 

“I know, silly me. I thought I might try learning something new… Pretty dumb, huh?” 

“Just awful.” 

The two of them walk together in silence until they’re out of the crowded building, striding outside into the chilly, January air. 

“Well,” Jean starts, pulling his hoodie up over his head, “don’t judge me too hard when we start doing speaking exercises, Mr. Fluent. I’m not exactly _muy_ _bueno_ en Español.”

Marco cackles. 

“That’s okay,” Marco shrugs, zipping up his jacket. He extends a hand out for Jean. Jean eyes it for a moment before gripping it. Marco gives him a firm and determined shake, his face suddenly very serious. “I promise I will do my best to help you pass.” 

A grin creeps onto Jean’s lips as he shakes Marco’s hand in return. 

“And I will do my best to not fail.” 

“That’s the spirit.” 

Marco releases Jean’s hand, and at the loss of contact, Jean’s smile falters. Marco tucks his hands into the depths of his pockets and briefly shivers in the chill. 

“I think I’m gunna head to the cafe,” Marco tells him and, already disappointed at the brevity of their interaction, Jean prepares to part ways, “you wanna tag along?” 

Jean perks up again. The temptation of a nap still lingers in the back of his mind, but he figures that it’s nothing a little coffee won’t cure. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

**::**

“Large peppermint mocha for me, and uh,” Marco pauses and turns to Jean, “you want anything?”

“Ah, you don’t have to-”

“Please, it’s no biggie. My treat. What do you want?”

Jean smiles and looks up at the menu, eying it briefly before addressing the barista. 

“Dirty chai tea latte, please, medium.” 

Once Marco pays, he gestures towards a couple of chairs tucked away in the corner and asks for Jean to snag them. Jean tosses his bag into one of the chairs and plops down into the other one, drawing up his legs and tucking them under himself as he watches Marco wait for their drinks. 

Jean tugs out his phone to glance at the time - it’s still early. He’s got a few hours until his afternoon class. Plenty of time to relax here for a bit and maybe still get the nap he’d wanted earlier. 

After a few minutes, Marco finally comes over to join him, a drink in each hand. Jean tugs his bag out of the second chair and Marco settles into it with a groan, passing Jean his drink. 

“It’s pretty hot,” Marco mumbles around a sip of his own drink. 

“I hear hot coffee usually is.” 

Marco snickers. 

“Smartass. I think I just might like you.” 

“So,” Jean starts, shifting in his seat to face his new companion more fully, “Tell me about yourself, Mr. I-Take-Spanish-Classes-Even-Though-I’m-Fluent.” 

“Hey, don’t look a Spanish-speaking gift horse in the mouth, I might wind up being your saving grace in that class.” 

“Fair enough.” Jean pauses for a beat. “But no, for real, what are you studying, where are you from, are you a cat or a dog person, etc. Let’s get the small-talk intros out of the way.” 

A sly grin slips onto Marco’s lips for a brief moment before he takes another sip of his coffee. 

“Well,” he starts, setting his cup down on the table between their chairs, “Um. I’m Marco, I’m a gemini, I have twelve and a half cats, and I love romantic dinners and long walks on the bea-” 

Jean cuts him off with a quick smack on his arm. 

“Okay, okay,” Marco laughs, fending off another tap from Jean, “I’m a sophomore, I’m from Jinae. I’m majoring in neuroscience, because I like to suffer, aaaaand I really like to write.” 

“What do you like to write?” 

“Little of this, little of that. Mostly poetry, occasionally short stories.” 

“I like to write, too,” Jean tells him, trying his best not to smile. He’s never been very skilled at making friends, nor is he always the easiest to get along with. His mama always called him a little abrasive towards strangers; Jaeger always calls him an asshole. But there’s something about Marco that jives with him - an easy smile, a seeming eagerness for Jean’s company, a willingness to talk to Jean at all - it’s kind of nice. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah, even had a couple pieces in the lit magazine.” 

“No shit, really? Which year?”

“Last year. They weren’t really my best, but people seemed to like them… Hoping whatever I can muster up this year might be better,” Jean pauses, daring a quick glance up into Marco’s eyes. They’re fixated on him, Marco’s full attention directed at Jean. “If uh, if you haven’t before, you should really submit some of your stuff.” 

Marco’s tongue darts out to drag across the line of his teeth, pausing at his canine and tapping at it pensively. He stares at Jean with a look that Jean can only interpret as intrigue. It’s a playful look though, a little bit of spark hiding in the shine of his dark, brown eyes, and it’s… a little bit intimate, if Jean’s being honest. Enough so that Jean has to break the gaze after a moment to keep from flushing. 

“Maybe I will,” Marco tells him after a moment, “I need to go check out your work, too. I’m sure it’s amazing.” 

Jean’s face heats up, even if it doesn’t mean to; he rushes his coffee to his lips, if only to hide the red he assumes has come to color his cheeks. 

“Nah,” he mumbles around the lip of his cup, “but… thank you.” 

Marco hums, but a silence builds in the wake of Jean’s awkward reply. They sip their coffee in the lull, and Jean spends the moment wondering if Marco is racking his brain for something to say, just like Jean is. If he is, though, it doesn’t take him very long to find something to push the conversation forward - a skill Jean somewhat envies. 

“What about you, Jean? What are you studying? English?” 

And just like that, the conversation is awkward again - at least for Jean. He’d figured that the subject of his own major and studies would come up eventually: it’s a staple of smalltalk, after all. And it’s not something he usually minds discussing, except with his father, but in the face of Marco’s seeming sense of togetherness, Jean can’t help but feel inferior. 

“Eh, I’m honestly….not sure yet. I haven’t really decided on a set path yet, ya know?” 

He halfway expects Marco to mock him or chastise him for his lack of direction, to deride him for being in college for 3 years and not yet having found a sense of academic direction. But Marco doesn’t. Instead, he nods his head in understanding and with care, he gives Jean a gentle pat on the shoulder. 

“No big deal. There’s not a time limit or anything, man. Better to take your time and figure out exactly what you want than to rush into a major and wind up hating it, ya know?” 

Jean dares to lift his gaze to meet Marco’s - it’s just as soft and sincere as it was a moment ago - and Jean meets it with a grateful smile. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” 

“Pfft, of course I am,” Marco scoffs before taking a long swig of his coffee. His mouth smirks around the lip of his cup and he shoots Jean a brief wink. 

Jean thinks he might just like Marco, too. 

**::**

Before Jean knows it, trips to the cafe with Marco become a regular part of his week. Sometimes they go after class, sometimes they go in the evenings when they really shouldn’t be drinking coffee in the first place. Sometimes they go to study, sometimes they go so that they can _pretend_ they’re studying, and sometimes they go just because Marco needs his peppermint mocha latte fix.

And as the weeks go by, Marco becomes more and more of a constant at Jean’s side. Jean supposes you can’t spend 3 days a week having hour long conversations with someone - even if it is in a language Jean is kind of bad at - without getting to know them and grow fond of them. Somewhere between their classes, their cafe trips, their lunches together, and their impromptu, late-night study sessions, it has become more normal for the two of them to be together than to be apart. And frankly, it’s a ritual that Jean has grown rather fond of. It’s not like close friends come around all that often for Jean anyway; he figures he should enjoy it. Marco is kind and welcoming… and rather nice to look at, if Jean's being honest. And maybe next semester they’ll drift apart, maybe when they no longer have a class together, they'll have no reason to spend time together. Maybe after this class, they’ll no longer be friends. Maybe next semester, it will be as though they’d never even known each other in the first place. Jean hopes not, but he doesn’t know.

So for now Jean just wants to enjoy Marco’s company while he has it. 

**::**

It’s 2 am when the banging starts on his dorm room door. Jean’s a night-owl, sure, but even he’d already begun to settle down for the evening. The knocking persists - almost continuous now - and by the sound and force of every bang, Jean knows exactly who it is.

Jean groans and tosses off his covers, slipping on a pair of sweatpants as he stumbles towards the demanding noises at his door. 

_ Knock. Knock-knock. Knock-knock-knock _ . 

“Alright, _alright_ , Marco, oh my god, I’m _coming_.” 

_ Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-kno- _

Jean flings the door open, silencing Marco’s rapping mid-bang. 

“You know I have a lit test tomorrow, right?” Jean groans, leaning against the door frame.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, totally,” Marco mumbles, already pushing past Jean and into the room, “I’m sure you’ll do great.”

“Oh, by all means, won’t you come in?” Jean snarks once Marco is inside, already stripping off his scarf and making himself comfortable on Jean’s bed.   

“Yeah, thanks,” Marco replies, not even acknowledging Jean’s snark as he folds his legs up underneath himself. 

Once Jean settles down onto the mattress next to him, Marco scooches even closer - closer than they certainly need to be. His knee presses into the meat of Jean’s thigh as he thrusts a flyer in Jean’s direction. 

“I wanted to tell you about this.” 

Jean takes the piece of papers and scans it; he tries his best to absorb it, but it takes a certain amount of concerted effort to disregard their physical closeness. Reading over the flyer, Jean does his best to ignore the way his naked shoulder brushes against the warmth of Marco’s arm, the way the soft fabric of Marco’s pullover tickles the hairs of his bicep, the way he just doesn’t mind the warm presence of Marco’s leg pressed up against his own. 

Jean clears his throat, trying to focus his attention back to the subject at hand.  He flips the flyer over to see if there’s anything else on the back, but there’s nothing. 

“There’s… a movie on campus, so what?”

Marco scoffs and tugs the flyer out of his hand. 

“It’s Pan’s Labyrinth. El Laberinto del Fauno.” 

Jean stares at him. 

“It’s a Spanish movie,” Marco deadpans for clarity. 

“Okay.” 

“So it’s in Spanish? And it’s really good?”

“Okay, so...?” 

“Okay so… they’re screening it tomorrow night and we should go watch it?” 

“You woke me up at 2 in the morning to tell me we should go see a movie together?” 

Marco rolls his eyes and waves a dismissive hand in Jean’s direction.

“Oh _please_ , you weren’t asleep.”

“You don’t know that.” 

Marco doesn’t say anything back, but he shoots Jean a look that says he’s in no way buying Jean's bluff. 

“I mean, I was a-almost asl-” Jean tries to continue before stopping and shrugging his shoulders in defeat, “Ugh, shut up. _You’re_ the one trying to ask me out at 2 AM.” 

“It’s  _ educational _ , Jean!” 

“Hey, a boring date is still a date.” 

Marco flops back onto Jean’s mattress with a groan and a huff. He juts his legs out and shoves at Jean before jabbing them at Jean’s stomach to tickle him. Jean doesn’t mean to, but he squeals - as dignified a squeal a man can manage when two wiggly feet are diddling around his abdominals. He flails a bit and pushes Marco’s legs away with a gasp. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll go, I’ll go! Mercy! Uncle!” 

Marco smiles a smug, little grin and stops his tickling, opting to flop his legs across Jean’s lap in victory, instead. 

“Good.” 

Jean pauses for a moment before laying a soft hand on one of Marco’s shins. He halfway expects Marco to move, to get up and leave, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stays put and lets Jean touch him and meets Jean’s nervous glance with a soft grin. 

But the moment is short-lived. The next thing Jean knows, Marco glances at his watch and drags a purposeful hand down his face with a groan. He sits up off the bed, dragging his legs off Jean’s lap as he goes. 

“Goodness, it’s late,” Marco says, as if it’s a total surprise. He stands and turns to face Jean, wagging a playful finger in his face, “Shouldn’t you be asleep? We have a quiz tomorrow, Mister.” 

Jean can only laugh in the face of Marco’s faux-scolding, and stands up to usher his friend out of his room. 

“Go on, you pain in my ass, get out,” Jean orders, a firm but playful hand on the small of Marco’s back. He lets it linger for a moment longer than he needs to, fingers lingering on the fabric of Marco’s sweater as he corrals him out the door. 

“I’ll pick you up at 7, doll face~” Marco croons, already sauntering down the hall away from Jean’s room. 

**::**

True to his word, Marco comes banging on Jean’s door at 7 PM on the dot the following evening. Jean flings the door open and greets him with a smile - a much more jovial greeting than he’d given his friend the evening before. 

Marco’s dressed rather nicely. He’s donned a nice pair of dark-wash jeans and a black button up. When he strips off his jacket, slinging it across the back of Jean’s desk chair, Jean sees that his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He looks… he looks  _ damn good _ . 

Jean glances down at his own clothes - a casual t-shirt and ripped up jeans - and questions the ensemble. He’s halfway debating changing clothes and dressing up a little more, until Marco glances him up and down and tells hims,  “I’m really digging those jeans, man. You look great.” 

Jean bites his lip, and looks himself over again. This is just a movie on campus, right? 

“You think? I mean, I feel kinda… underdressed?” 

“It’s not the prom or anything,” Marco laughs, slinging a flirtatious arm around Jean’s shoulders and dragging him towards the door, “You look fan _tabulous_. Come on, let’s go.” 

Marco grabs his coat from off of Jean’s chair, but doesn’t release his hold on Jean, even as the two of them step out of the dorm room and out into the hallway. Jean checks the lock on his door with a quick jiggle of the knob and follows Marco’s guiding arm, allowing Marco’s arm to stay slung across his shoulders as they walk side-by-side down the hall and out of the building. 

**::**

They manage to snag some decent seats in the auditorium on campus - a pair of seats to themselves near the back row so that they can better see the screen. It’s not exactly a traditional movie theater, but it’s a theater nonetheless. 

“I hope they’ve got subtitles on this thing, or I’m not gunna know what the hell is happening…” Jean mumbles as he settles into his seat. 

“They will, don’t worry. But you could try not reading them, if you want a little practice.” 

“Bad suggestion, Marco, boo.” 

“Practice makes perfect, Jean.”

“Booooooo.” 

Jean sticks his tongue out, just to emphasize his point. Marco replies with a quick jut of his elbow into Jean’s side and a smirk, but he says nothing. 

They wait for a few minutes as more people begin to filter into the auditorium, but all-in-all, it’s a fairly empty room. Jean had expected as much. Even the bigger, Blockbuster-level movies the campus sometimes screens aren’t heavily attended - Jean never could figure out why, either. It’s basically a free trip to the movies; hard to pass up. But now, he’s actually rather grateful for the emptiness of the theater. 

It feels more private. 

His and Marco’s row remains empty, even as a final few people in when the lights dim and the screen comes to life. As the opening scene begins to roll - a soft and calming song humming through the speakers, pained, panting breaths, and a young girl lying on the ground with blood on her face and hands - Jean leans in close to Marco to whisper into his ear. 

“Well… this is starting off rather depressing…” 

Marco nods and leans back in, just as the opening narration begins. 

_ [Cuenta que hace mucho, mucho tiempo, en el mundo subterr _ _ áneo, donde no existe la mentira ni el dolor…] _

“Yeah, but it’s absolutely beautiful… Trust me.” 

“I do,” Jean tells him, and it’s the truth. If Marco likes this movie, Jean is sure that it’s good. 

“You might cry though,” Marco continues. 

“I will not.” 

“You might.” 

Jean chuckles and bumps Marco’s shoulder with his own, but doesn’t bother to lean back towards his own seat. Instead, he keeps their shoulders pressed together, convinced that if Marco wanted to move, he would do so. 

But Marco doesn’t move. 

And neither does Jean. Because if Marco doesn’t mind, then why should he?

Jean stays that way as long as he can, his body tilted against the armrest, shoulder pressed in close to Marco’s. He stays until his neck and shoulders begin to twinge from the angle. And even after it begins to ache, he stays leant up against Marco for another moment longer. 

When he finally does has to move, he does so with hesitancy; he tilts away slightly, forcing himself to settle back into his own seat as the film plays on in front of them. Jean rolls his shoulders a little, coaxing out the crick he’d caused by the way he was sitting, and relaxes his arm on the armrest. 

A few moments pass and Marco doesn’t move. Jean is halfway considering leaning back in closer to him, despite the discomfort, if only to see if Marco might let him. But he doesn’t. Silence and space, however minimal, exists between them now as the movie continues to play, and Jean is suddenly very nervous about breaching it. 

He’s not entirely sure what he expects to happen, or why he’s even doing this, but Jean keeps his arm on the armrest between them, making sure to only take up part of it. Makes sure to leave enough space should Marco decide he’d like to share it. But Marco doesn’t. 

Jean curls his fingers for a moment, the digits suddenly aching for contact, and he glances down at Marco’s hands that are relaxed on his own lap. He uncurls his fingers, relaxes them, and breathes a quiet sigh as he turns his attention back to movie. 

After a few minutes, with his focus diverted back on the film he’s supposed to be watching, Jean almost forgets his growing sense of uneasiness. But when Marco suddenly clears his throat and exhales, his arm lifting to join Jean’s atop the armrest, the nerves return. Twisting up inside his stomach, Jean tries not to look at their arms, tries his very best to stay focused on the movie, on the Spanish being spoken, on the subtitles, and tries not to focus on the way his and Marco’s pinky fingers are touching. 

There’s a war happening on screen, but all Jean can think about is the warmth of Marco’s hand and the gentle way it presses up against his own. Jean can’t look down, too afraid that if he does, then whatever kind of moment this is becoming might end before it's actually begun. And so he sits there, tries not to move, tries not to even breathe. 

The stillness returns. Marco’s hand is still a constant presence against his own, but the nervousness has calmed, uneasy finger twitches have seemed to have stilled, and Jean’s focus has almost returned to the movie. At least, until he feels Marco’s pinky finger begin to touch his own again. 

It taps against Jean’s finger with hesitancy; Jean dares a brief glance at Marco, but Marco doesn’t glance back. His eyes stay trained on the screen in front of them, innocent and unassuming, but his pinky continues to touch Jean’s. Gentle taps turn to soft, small caresses - a casual touch seeking closeness, and Jean doesn’t know what to make of it.

So he touches back.

He stares at the screen and touches Marco, his pinky just barely grazing against the skin of Marco’s. Marco takes a second before his pinky gives Jean’s another tap, and moves to hook around Jean’s, giving it a brief squeeze. 

Jean's breath catches - and he tries not to show it. He takes a moment, just barely registering the feeling of the minuscule embrace of their fingers, before he curls his own pinky and squeezes Marco’s in return. 

Marco seems to pause at the reciprocation, but after a beat, Marco unlinks their fingers, releasing Jean’s pinky just as quickly as he’d held it. Jean feels his stomach sink, waiting for Marco to pull his arm away. But instead, Marco lifts his hand and crosses Jean’s wrist with his own, his fingers sprawling out across Jean’s palm and steadily - so steadily - lacing their way between Jean’s fingers. 

A lump grows in Jean’s throat and a tremor threatens to shiver from his shoulders to his hands. He stares at the screen - attention pointed but hardly focused on the movie. He blinks hard, allowing Marco’s fingers to thread with his and give them a reassuring squeeze. Marco’s thumb relaxes across Jean’s and gives it a gentle caress. Jean - for all the anxiety that has suddenly built up inside his chest - lets his own fingers curl and returns to embrace. 

He says nothing but exhales an uneasy breath. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Marco turn his head to look at him. 

“Is this okay?” Marco whispers. 

Jean doesn’t look at him, but he nods - curt and sure, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. 

Marco squeezes his fingers again, thumb dragging atop Jean’s for reassurance. 

Jean squeezes back and watches the movie as best he can. 

**::**

By the time the credits roll, their hands are still clasped together, and even as the lights go up neither of them make the first move to unlace their fingers. It’s only as other students begin to stand and leave that Jean’s grip loosens and releases Marco’s hand. 

Neither of them speak as they stand and make their way out of the auditorium, but they make sure to walk side-by-side, arms brushing as they do. Jean doesn’t want this to feel awkward, but it does. He doesn’t know what to say - and he assumes Marco doesn’t either - and so they say nothing. They head outside into the chilly night air, and Jean pauses as they exit the building. Marco follows suit and watches as the other students begin to disperse, leaving just the two of them standing alone by the auditorium doors. 

“That was good,” Jean mumbles

_ 'Nice small talk, idiot _ ,' Jean thinks  to himself. 

Marco nods and hums. 

“One of my favorites.” 

“I didn’t cry.” 

Marco actually laughs at that - it’s a quiet chuckle, but a chuckle nonetheless, and Jean is grateful for at least a little dispersion of discomfort between them. 

“I bet you did, you little liar” Marco jests with a playful bump against Jean’s shoulder, “Gah, it’s freezing.” 

Marco uses that comment to take a small sidestep and stand just a little closer to Jean with a brief shiver.

“Yeah it is.” 

Jean dares to close the distance, taking his own small sidestep closer to Marco and pressing their shoulders together. 

They should go inside and Jean knows that, but neither of them move to leave the front of the auditorium. Marco clears his throat in the silence that has grown between them and points his gaze down to his feet. Several beats pass before Marco finally huffs and turns to look at Jean

“Hey, uh,” Marco starts, his voice uneasy as if it had taken physical effort to get those two words out, “I’m hungry. You want to like, I don’t know, grab a late dinner? With uh, with me?” 

Marco actually sounds nervous, and a red flush begins to splotch across his speckled cheeks, and that alone is enough to quell the nerves coiling in Jean’s own stomach. Somehow it’s more comforting that whatever jitters have been welling up inside Jean have been welling up inside Marco as well. 

Jean grins. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I would,” he cocks his head in the general direction of the parking lot, “you drive?” 

Marco’s eyes light up, and the flush on his face begins to fade, replaced instead by his own smile. 

“Okay.” 

Marco starts walking first, Jean quick to follow, heading out to wherever Marco has parked his arm. A half step behind Marco, Jean eyes Marco’s hand as they walk. He swallows the lump in his throat, extends his stride to come even with him, and takes Marco’s hand in his. 

Marco doesn’t saying anything, doesn’t protest, but he pauses and looks at Jean with curiosity. And when Jean’s just about to release him, Marco’s fingers curl and squeeze around Jean’s in return. 

Jean flushes and walks in stride with Marco, heading to wherever the two of them decide to go. 

  
**::**   
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys for reading! I always appreciate your comments and thoughts, so please feel free to leave one for me. :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> I also have a [tumblr](https://commodorecliche.tumblr.com) and a [twitter](https://twitter.com/commodorecliche) \- feel free to check me out there.


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